


Garak's Semen Problem

by ConceptaDecency



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bottom Elim Garak, Cardassians, M/M, Oral Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConceptaDecency/pseuds/ConceptaDecency
Summary: Humans are disgusting, messy creatures, but Garak can't seem to stop letting a certain one come into his...quarters night after night.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 56
Kudos: 153





	Garak's Semen Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_last_dillards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/gifts).



It was disgusting. _They_ were disgusting. Humans. 

Garak had learned this early on — many delicate fabrics were simply unsuitable for his human clientele because of their propensity to release bodily fluid from their skin. They did this most copiously in aid of cooling themselves when overheated, but many of them, the adults, at least, also secreted this 'sweat' involuntarily even when cool and at rest. There did not seem to be a garment a human could wear that did not risk daily peril simply from contact with human skin.

They were foul, wet mammals.

And now Garak found himself hopelessly entangled with one of them. Sometimes literally, as humans — or at least, Julian — enjoyed falling asleep wrapped around their bed partners. And given the temperature at which Garak kept his quarters, as well as the athleticism of their usual pre-sleep activities, Julian was often very, very wet. His sweat had already completely ruined one set of Garak's very fine Illulean silk sheets. Garak had disposed of these wordlessly, and vowed to keep his other nice bedlinen for weeks when Julian was safely off the station and could be trusted not to worm his way without warning into Garak's bed with late night 'you up?' messages, or worse, unannounced arrivals at Garak's door, offering nothing but a cheeky grin and a tell-tale bulge in his trousers.

Garak was weak. He really should just send the man on his way, tell him he'd see him at their scheduled lunch in two days' time (or whenever — these nighttime 'surprises' were becoming more and more frequent) and not a moment before. 

But the way Julian touched him! The way his surgeon's hands divested Garak of his clothes and found their way into his most secret and sensitive places as if they had studied and practiced not only how to please a Cardassian, but how to please Elim Garak in particular. The way his teeth (far too wet) nipped up and down Garak's scales with just the right pressure and rhythm. The way his tongue (even wetter) deftly darted and explored the interior of Garak's mouth. And his _ajan_. 

And the way Julian looked at Garak, too. The way his eyes hungered as he invited himself into Garak’s home on one pretence after another, each more poorly-contrived than the last. The way this stunningly beautiful man made it clear he wanted Garak as they fell together onto the bed or the sofa or occasionally the floor. The way Julian clearly longed to thrust into Garak, to fuck him vigorously and relentlessly, and yet held himself back. The way, every time, but especially the first, he eased his large alien organ in slowly and gradually, with great care. The way he could fill Garak so thoroughly and satisfyingly, but carefully, checking at regular intervals that Garak was comfortable, before the pistoning began in earnest. And even then, the way he concerned himself with Garak’s pleasure even as he was taking his own. Garak had never had such considerate lover.

So he could put up with a little dripping from such a man, even when, after climax, he would often fall onto Garak in a wet, limp pile, and then insist on 'having a cuddle'. When one bedded aliens, one had to make allowances. 

What was much, much more difficult to reconcile was the other bodily fluid. 

After their first time, Garak had been taken quite by surprise when, following a bit of shifting around to find a comfortable position for sleep, he'd felt a rush of warmth on his inner thigh. His first thought had been that he'd been injured internally and was bleeding — Julian was rather longer and thicker than any lover he'd had before, and the human method of vigorous stabbing with the organ during coitus, whilst extremely satisfying, had a certain element of risk that the Cardassian practice of wriggling and writhing did not. Garak had trepidatiously crept a hand down to investigate, and when his finger had come back covered not with blood but with a tacky, pearly liquid, he'd been relieved but puzzled. "Doctor," he'd begun.

"Mmmmm? It’s Julian, remember?" Julian had murmured into his neck, his voice already thick with sleep.

"Julian. There seems to be a bit of a problem-"

"Oh, are you in the wet spot?"

 _Wet_ spot? Garak had been about to say no, but then realised that yes, the substance had in fact dribbled down further and he was now lying in a wet spot. His poor mattress. "Yes, I'm afraid I am," he'd said, and nothing else. It never did to reveal one's ignorance. Apparently wetness was associated with human sex to the extent that they even had a term for the unpleasant result. How vile. Cardassians had emissions during intercourse too, of course, but kept the volume to a reasonable amount. How very human to discharge such a great deal of goo into one’s partner during sexual congress and not even think to warn him beforehand.

But. Julian had taken responsibility, hadn’t he?

He had. In a way.

"Mmmmmmff. Sorry, Elim. Here, let's switch sides," had been the offer that followed. And they had. Julian (who had simply assumed he was welcome to stay the night, not that Garak was complaining) had immediately drifted off, apparently unbothered to be lying atop his own damp mess, but Garak had spent what felt like hours unable to get comfortable, a feat made nearly impossible due to the slimy human gunge slicking his thighs and, worse, dripping between his buttocks, and in the morning had had the pleasure of of washing the half-dry tacky substance from under his most delicate scales. 

He'd since learned that it was normal and not at all impolite for the receiving partner to clean themselves in the fresher after coitus; expected, even, amongst humans. Julian had in fact suggested it, concerned (in a professional capacity?), the second time. And for that Garak was grateful. But in truth it was not exactly an ideal solution either. The loping across the bedroom to the fresher, one hand cupping his _ajan_ in order to preserve the carpet, while Julian lounged like a lazy overcooked noodle in the bed. How was it that Garak was so frequently forsaking all dignity in order to bed this man? 

Well. What a question. One only had to return from one's ablutions to find that lean, golden-skinned vision naked and half asleep in one's bed to see how. It would take a far stronger man than Garak to resist Julian Bashir. And if that wasn't enough, he was warm too.

But still. This semen problem. It was inconvenient, and, frankly, disgusting. The volume. The texture. The viscosity. If any one of these had been different Garak might not have minded the way the cooling goo would plop into his hand as he waddled to the fresher.

And still, here he was. About to put himself in the same position yet again. He’d answered Julian’s rather impudent (given the lateness of hour) query — _what you doing?_ — with _nothing important_ (he had in fact been scanning the next day’s arrivals manifests, an important daily task indeed for someone with as many enemies as Elim Garak) and Julian had been at his door within ten minutes. Julian was now applying himself diligently to removing Garak’s tunic, nibbling at his neck ridge, and guiding him backwards toward the bed. Three intricate actions which he was performing with admirable aplomb, all at the same time. How could one not surrender completely to such a man? Garak’s ridges were burning. What would one more undignified trip to the fresher afterwards matter? Yes, something needed to be done, but it could wait until next time, couldn’t it? 

No. No, no. Of course it couldn’t. If not now then when, that’s what Mila had always said. It took every measure of Garak’s resolve to capture Julian’s hands as they slid around his waist, pushing his now unfastened tunic down his arms. 

“Mmmmmmm?” Julian’s mouth was occupied in worrying Garak’s neck ridge, but still he vibrated his surprise into the scales.

“My dear.” Garak shrugged the tunic onto the floor, and in a supreme effort, dropped to his knees, leaving his ridge bereft of Julian’s clever teeth. “May I?” Garak caressed the bulge in the front of Julian’s trousers to allay any doubt as to his meaning.

“Yes?” Julian looked down, his eyes and mouth round. He had a right to be surprised. Garak had, until now, always given complete control of their lovemaking over to Julian. “Yes! Yes, of course you may, Elim. I, ah, didn’t know you were interested in that.”

“Julian! If it would give you pleasure of course I’m interested.” Garak, with professional precision, had already undone Julian’s trousers at the first yes (Julian had not, thankfully, worn his uniform that evening, but a pair of unfashionably — but devastatingly, fashion wasn’t everything — tight black faux leather trousers that he’d acquired on Risa of all places) and was easing them down his slim hips. Far enough down and Garak then took a moment to appreciate the undergarments. Black as well, briefs of utilitarian design, at which Garak should have been disgusted, except that the clinging fabric showed every curve and ridge (and there weren't many to be seen, compared to a Cardassian one) of the doctor's beautiful, sizeable organ. 

And it was sizeable. Garak caressed it through the cloth, a cheap, slinky black sateen, probably Orion, that should have felt unpleasantly slippery to the touch. But the way Julian moaned and twitched under Garak's finger would have allowed Garak to overlook any number of terrible fashion crimes. He briskly flipped the front of the garment down, releasing a noseful of Julian's damp muskiness, and _it_ , flushed and ready and larger even than Garak remembered, sprang to attention in front of him. Guls, how had that fit inside Garak so comfortably, not once but multiple times? Julian was truly a marvel.

Speaking of, Garak glanced up. The honeyed eyes were upon him, earnest and concerned, but not enough to hide the eagerness. Julian really wanted this. Well, Garak should have guessed. The gusto with which Julian regularly applied his mouth to Garak's _ajan_ should have been proof enough that to humans, or at least to Julian, oral sex was a popular and joyful activity.

Garak turned his attention back to Julian's cheerfully bobbing penis and contemplated his next move. Was he meant to put all of it in his mouth? At once? Where would it possibly go? 

"Have you ever done this before?" Julian asked. One hand cupped the back of Garak's head. The other braced against the wall.

"Of course," Garak lied. "Just not with a human."

"Mmmmm," said Julian, but he didn't protest the lie, and before long Garak was being schooled in the application of lips (suck), tongue (swirl), throat (hum), teeth (scrape, but not too much), and hands (tighter, yes, just like that)(gentler, those are sensitive, no, not that gentle, that just tickles)(touch yourself, Elim, please). Orally pleasing a human was a complicated business. 

Complicated, but still, it wasn't so bad. Julian was warm and salty, and seemed very appreciative indeed of Garak's ministrations, fumbling though they were. He moaned and offered words of encouragement and affirmation, and just as Garak's jaw muscles were starting to tire and his knees to complain, Julian's breathing changed.

"Elim, I'm close," he said, looking down and fashioning his words with obvious effort. "I'll come in your mouth if you keep it up.”

Oh. Garak paused in his rhythmic sucking and searched Julian’s eyes. That had been the aim all along, but was allowing a partner to come in one’s mouth not desirable? Julian had always been thoughtful enough to inform Garak when he was going to come inside his ajan, but this seemed more like a warning than a courtesy. On the other hand, what were the options? Invite Julian to finish in his ajan? That would bring him right back to square one, and without the extended fucking session that made having a human partner so delightful. Perhaps manual stimulation? No. Garak dismissed the notion outright. Not here in the bedroom, amongst his soft furnishings and whilst partially clothed. For all he knew humans spurted like fountains when not contained. So Garak made a decision. Withdrawing Julian’s spit-soaked cock from between his lips and being careful not to let the spit drip, he asked the pertinent question. “Would you like to come in my mouth?”

Julian’s face was that of a child who’d been asked if he’d like to have an entire box of Delavian chocolates for breakfast. “God, Elim. Yes! I’d love it. It’s just...the taste...”

The taste. Yes, he’d considered that it might be unpleasant. Still, one never got anywhere without taking risks. The only way he’d learn if this was a viable option was to try it once. The possibility that he could neatly swallow the mess and be done with it was extremely attractive, so the stuff would have to be pretty vile for that to be the worse option. And in any case, Julian wanted it. How could he deny those eyes whatever they desired?

Garak popped the meaty thing back in place and slid it in deep, to Julian's delighted gasps. A couple of passes up and down the shaft with his lips and Julian's muscles tightened, his hands, still entwined in Garak's hair, clenched, and...oh. Oh, by the guls. By the vaunted ancestors. It was...inexpressibly vile. Hot, and slimy, and acidic, but with a protein thickness that glurged its way into all corners of Garak's mouth. Garak fought the urge to spit it out onto the floor as Julian, shouting to his people's god and thankfully oblivious to any reaction Garak might be having, shuddered and squirted the foul liquid into Garak's mouth. It slicked back over his molars and up to coat his palate and felt as if it might slime its way through his nose.

Garak's eyes watered but he managed, just barely, to swallow. He eased the limpening organ out of his mouth, giving it a gentle lick and nearly gagging but preventing a gathering drop of the stuff from reaching the carpet, as Julian leaned bonelessly into the bulkhead and came back to himself.

"God. Elim. You were amazing," he said, caressing what of Garak's hair he could reach.

Garak swallowed twice, took a deep breath, and blinked back tears of nausea before tilting his head to look up into his spent lover's radiant, blissful face.

He'd theorised. He'd tried. And now he knew. No venture was a failure if it resulted in valuable information. And in any case Julian, with his long, dark eyelashes, had never beamed at him more beautifully. 

Garak wondered if humans at all enjoyed sex in the shower. 

**Author's Note:**

> Garak's just going to keep trying until he solves the problem, because he loves the disgusting human (and his cock) more than he hates the jizz. 
> 
> Thanks to [the_last_dillards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/pseuds/the_last_dillards/works) for inspiring this cursed fic ages ago in a conversation we had in a comments section somewhere. 
> 
> I love your comments and kudos and poor Garak might appreciate suggestions!


End file.
